Across the abyss, the whole world waited for word. The transmitter in the rocket had survived the crash. The word would come, thought Thurmon ... when he was ready to send it. And sending it, he would place the official seal of immortality on his brow. The book would close. But wonderfully, satisfyingly. There would be no other to steal his rightful glory. Only Wayne could have done that ... and Wayne was dead. He laughed weirdly within his helmet. So simply done!

The Sea of Serenity stretched out before him in weird magnificence. In the far distance a mountain range rose precipitously from the wilderness of pumice to hump its spiny backbone at the brilliant stars. A limbo of black shadows and stark white talus slopes. Moonscape! Thurmon stumbled to his feet and fought the wave of nausea that surged over him as his equilibrium teetered from the low gravity. Then in an instant his discomfort was forgotten. Standing on the brink of the cosmos, his ego drank of grandeur. All the splendor of Creation lay before him like a jeweled carpet. All his! All for John Thurmon, genius ... explorer ... murderer! For John Thurmon ... first man on the Moon!